


Outrun The Wind

by taichara



Category: Gundam Wing Frozen Teardrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:02:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8009215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oncoming storms are the least of Father Maxwell's concerns right now.</p>
<p>Winds are such unpredictable things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outrun The Wind

On a winding stretch of highway, a lone cycle roared into the winds, its rider hunched low like they were expecting the skies to open up at any moment, their small passenger clinging behind like a burr on a sheep. Clouds like rusting anvils hung low in Mars' darkening skies, prompting the cyclist to take his attention from the battered asphalt just long enough to gauge what was bearing down on them --

_I don't remember the weathersat saying anything about a dust storm, but those don't look like thunderheads. Too red. Not that thunder and hell's much better, seeing as we're sitting ducks either way._

_Damn it anyway, that's the last thing I need -- Cyrene'll have a fit if I get his kid caught in a blow. Can't even really say I'd blame him, either._

Of course there had to be more dust than God kicked up on the wind, tonight of all nights. If Wind incarnate (ha!) knew that the oh so reliable Father Maxwell (double ha!) hadn't taken the weather into account when he'd agreed to this little stunt, their years-long little truce wouldn't mean a piss into that oncoming storm. 

_Except for the part where he suckered me into this babysitting job. That part? That's all on him, the bastard._

_... What're you tangling with that's so bad you've split your kids up, eh Cyrene?_

Father Maxwell would've given his left nut to know the sordid details that made Cyrene Wind so obsessive about his kids' safety. Oh, he could _guess_ , sure, just from the accounts of Sanc's razing that made it into the history books; but dry political accounts didn't get down to the meat of things, and Maxwell knew damn sure that history books always left out the best parts. He was a perfectly serviceable living example of that fact, after all ...

"Father? Are we going to reach the orphanage in time?"

Even half-shouted over the howl of the winds, Naina seemed soft-spoken; far more than either of her parents were. Maxwell eyed the road -- nice, long straight stretch, good -- and craned his head back to eye Naina over his shoulder. One ivory-blonde braid had escaped her cap and was flapping wildly; she had (as he could feel just fine, thank you) a double-fisted death grip on his middle and her fingers twisted into the synthwool of his cassock. More importantly, her goggles were firmly on her face. He grumbled anyway; there was no sign of her dust breather.

"If we don't stop, we'll make it. Don't worry about the clouds, hang on tight, and where the hell is your mask?"

She pressed her face into his back; he barely made out her answer.

"... I'll pull it up if I need it. It makes me feel smothered."

Well, alright, whatever. She didn't need it immediately. Eyes back on the road, Maxwell tweaked his own goggles a little straighter and eyed the bike's merrily flickering GPS, then glanced up at the skies again. They had three-to-one odds of making good on his word, by his estimate. Well damn.

"And if we do get caught in it, Naina, don't worry. I've got cover in the saddleboxes -- and your father made me check every stitch of it before he left. 

"Sister Hilde knows when to expect us in, and she'll be watching the weather _and_ the time. We do anything too far off-schedule, she'll know and she'll check on it."

_I guess that's one good thing about having you with me, sprog._

"Okay. If you're sure, Father."

"I'm sure, I'm sure --"

"And we won't stop even if you see one of your targets?"

Maxwell's breath hissed out in a stream of expletives. Just what did Cyrene tell his daughter anyway? What did he tell _Noin_ , for the love of God? 'Don't worry, I'm sure he'll keep her out of the line of fire if a bounty stumbles in his path'?

_Thanks for that, asshole. No wonder Naina's ready to jump out of her skin._

_Fucking hell ..._

"I don't have a contract, Naina, it's not going to happen. Don't worry about it."

"Do you promise?"

"I don't have to 'promise', it's a fact. I'm not going to pick up a new mark in the middle of the road on the way back home."

Either he'd finally convinced her, or she was getting tired and didn't want to keep up with fighting against wind and acceleration to keep talking. Whichever it was, she burrowed closer into his back; he felt her sigh. 

_Not used to this kind of crazy travel, are you? Well, let's see if I can't speed us up just a bit, because I don't want rain or dust all over you in the middle of a goddamned frigid Martian night --_

True night was dropping fast; the wind picked up speed as the temperature began to plummet. He eyed his gauges and gave the cycle a bit more throttle, feeling Naina's squeak of surprise just before she doubled down on clamping her arms around his aching ribs.

Well, he'd just have to deal with it.

_'And miles to go before I sleep' ..._


End file.
